


Sherlock Image Prompts

by littlewonder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8042005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewonder/pseuds/littlewonder
Summary: I was inspired by some parentlock images on Pinterest, and just had to write these. I may add to it in the future.So I decided to broaden this, since I'm more often inspired by image prompts in general, so that this might get updated more...





	1. Mycroft's first time babysitting

**Author's Note:**

> These images are found on Pinterest [here](https://au.pinterest.com/pin/304274518544618585/) [and here.](https://au.pinterest.com/pin/368098969526992614/)
> 
> Sorry I didn't know the original sources of this. The best I could do was just where I saw them.

John turned and saw Mycroft enter 221b. “Ah, there you are, Mycroft. Well, this is Hamish, our son…”

Trailing behind Mycroft, a little girl came into view, a few years younger than Hamish. She hid behind Mycroft’s tall stature, full of the shyness of youth. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought my daughter along with me.” He glanced briefly at Lestrade, who was standing by the door, Sherlock close behind him, briefly paused in his pacing. Lestrade had been the one to bring them the case, and he had been the one to call Mycroft. “As there was no one else to see to her, I suppose this means I’ll be watching them both for this evening.”

“I really do appreciate the help, Mycroft,” Lestrade said sincerely. “Look at us all. How did four such busy men end up raising two children?”

“Indeed,” said Mycroft, eyes fixed on Lestrade’s face, drinking in every small detail. “I have taken to bringing her to work with me. Anthea watches over her during important business meetings, and I’ve had to learn to keep a watchful eye on her.”

“Yes, yes, well,” interrupted Sherlock impatiently, “enough with your prattle, Mycroft. Got a case to solve!”

“Yes, right,” agreed Lestrade. “Sorry about this, Mycroft, but we really must go. Time is of the essence.”

He stepped aside, and Sherlock eagerly passed him, eyes not even registering Lestrade’s open arm indicating the door. When he reached the door, Mycroft still stood there, his daughter by his side. “Apologies, brother.” He stood aside, minding his daughter, and Sherlock rushed past. About to step into the apartment, Mycroft ran into John, who stood there, looking apologetic.

“Sorry about him. Is she okay?” he asked.

Mycroft briefly looked back at her. “Quite,” he replied.

At his word, John sheepishly passed Mycroft, heading after Sherlock.

Finally free of the couple, Mycroft stepped into the room, his daughter following after him. He gestured to the empty chair not taken by Hamish, and she sat down in it across from him.

For a moment, Lestrade lingered, watching them. He didn’t know why he did it; there was just something unsettled in the air. “Right, Mycroft?”

“Quite, Gregory,” he replied.

Lestrade looked between him and Hamish. “Well, why don’t you ask him a question?”

“Alright…” He turned to Hamish, not sure where to start. “So, Hamish…”

“My dad told me to ask you, ‘how’s the diet?’” Hamish spoke before Mycroft had the chance. Mycroft gave a grimace of a smile, masking the hurt that panged in his chest every time he was asked that question.

“Hamish!” reprimanded Lestrade.

“You don’t need a diet,” said Victoria, Mycroft’s daughter, speaking up for the first time, a loving light in her eyes as she looked at Mycroft. At the voice, Mycroft hunched his shoulders over, not looking at her, years worth of self-hatred fading the smile. “Daddy is always saying that you are ‘the most beautiful man in the world’,” she explained. Mycroft straightened, turning around to face her, a light suddenly burning in his chest, looking at her as if seeing her for the first time.

At Mycroft’s look of shock, she sucked in her lips and hollowed her cheeks, reverting to her previous state of shyness. Mycroft turned to Lestrade, who was looking away, embarrassed.

“Well, I’ll just leave you to it, then, Mycroft…” he said, making to the door.

“Gregory,” said Mycroft, and Lestrade stopped at the door. Mycroft turned to face him. “Thank you.”

“Thank you? For what?”

“Loving me. Believing in me.”

“Someone’s got to,” said Lestrade.


	2. Moving Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is gone, and John and Hamish discuss moving on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the image [first](https://au.pinterest.com/pin/374502525236911578/).
> 
> The fic below continues the scene prompted by the image above

“If we leave here, will you really forget him?” asked Hamish.

John sucked in a breath. “No. No, of course not,” said John.

“Then what’s the difference?”

“Hamish,” breathed John. “I’m serious. Every night, he’s there, in my dreams. There’s this tug in my chest, and when I reach out to touch him… he isn’t there. He’s gone, Hamish, and nothing’s going to bring him back again, not this time. It’s about time we all got on with our lives. I’m not abandoning him, Hamish, I’m just… trying to survive.”

“If it was father standing here, what do you think he would do?” asked Hamish. “Would he leave?”

“No,” said John, looking away. “No, he probably wouldn’t. I can’t see your dad ever leaving Baker Street. But I’m not your dad. He could…” He looked up at Hamish, saw his brilliant blue eyes, looking sad and expectant. “Then again, I could be wrong. He might do the exact same thing I’m doing now. He loved me, and I loved him… and either one of us being separated from the other… would always feel exactly like this. Like heartbreak. Like my heart might never mend, not while I’m still in this place.”

Hamish just stared at him, eyes sparkling. He looked down. “I don’t want to go…” he said. “I want to… I need him close to me. I need… I need to feel him here. I don’t want to lose him.”

“We already have,” said John.

“No!” cried Hamish, and snapped his head up to his father, eyes full of tears. “You may have given up on him, you may want to run away from him, but I don’t! I want to chase him, wherever he is!”

“You think I’ve given up on him?” shot John. “I would never -- I would never do that! I love him! And you may be able to still feel him here, Hamish, but I can’t! Please, just… do this for me. We need to look out for each other, Hamish, we’re the only family we have left. We need to get each other through this. I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would let you in whenever you want, she kept the flat the last time Sherlock disappeared. But I can’t live here, I just can’t. I just want to scream sometimes. He’s not here, Hamish, and I can’t… and I can’t hold onto him anymore. Please, just do this for me, Hamish…”

Hamish didn’t say anything for what felt like several minutes. “Could I really come back?” asked Hamish, voice small.

“Yes,” choked John. “Of course. We’ve got to…”

“I’m sorry, dad. I should’ve…”

“It’s okay, Hamish, just… do you need help packing? I can come help you if you’re finding it too hard. Anything, just to…”

“Okay, dad,” said Hamish. “Just, don’t touch anything.”

John forced a little smile. “Yeah, okay. Yeah. Sure.”

Slowly, John followed Hamish to his room.


	3. We Should've Done This Sooner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So [here's](http://wearitcounts.tumblr.com/post/153661226677/wearitcounts-tfw-literally-everyone-you-meet) what this is based on

“Sherlock, do you really not like me?” asked John when they were alone in the cab.

Sherlock looked at him, face close enough that John could feel the heat coming off his breath; he had leaned in, chest full of repressed desire and heartbreak. Sherlock looked at him with a palpable intimacy, but he never said anything. And John was tired of waiting.

Sherlock’s brows knitted together, eyes confused and distant. “What do you mean, John, of course I like you.”

He wasn’t getting it. He really wasn’t getting it. He really shouldn’t have to be this explicit with Sherlock bloody Holmes. “That’s not what I mean,” said John, and he slid his hand into the middle of Sherlock’s thigh.

Sherlock’s breath hitched, body jumping at the touch. He breathed steadily out, but as his eyes connected with John’s, they didn’t look displeased. In fact, they looked heady.

“John,” he said, and his voice was thick and dark with desire, the same way he always sounded, yet somehow not. It was almost as if he purred it.

John leaned in closer to Sherlock; it was Sherlock who closed the distance between their lips and pressed a kiss there. After a few seconds, he pulled away.

“It isn’t that I don’t like you, John,” said Sherlock. “Not at all. But Mary --“

“Fuck Mary.”

“I’d rather not.”

John threw his head back and laughed. “Sherlock, seriously… The thing about Mary… is that I really don’t love her. And I haven’t forgiven her, not really. After all that’s happened… Honestly, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I’m just not willing to carry this façade on anymore. I can’t. It’s not Mary I love, Sherlock. It’s you.”

Shock mingled with something like relief in Sherlock’s eyes. “I love you too.”

“You… you do?” gasped John.

“Yes,” Sherlock said simply.

“Oh, well that cuts it, I’m definitely leaving her now.”

Sherlock shortened the gap between their mouths and pressed another quick kiss there.

“And the baby?”

“It’s not really mine. David can take it; he’s the father, after all. Let them raise the baby, alone.”

Sherlock cracked a smile and kissed John again. But this time, John stopped him from pulling away with a hand to the back of his head. He deepened the kiss, pulling Sherlock’s body towards him so they were facing each other, hooking a leg over his hip. What John really wanted to do was to straddle him, but they were in a moving cab right now, and he wouldn’t get to do that until they were safe in 221B. So he kept them like that, and just continued snogging the genius, who frequently had to come up for breath; clearly he wasn’t accustomed to kissing this much. They would have to take this part slow.

Still, he kept pressing himself into Sherlock’s body, grinding hips, pressing chests… He came out breathy at each break between their lips. “Oh, I’ve wanted this so long…” he breathed.

“Me too…”

“God, Sherlock! Have we been… such fools?”

“Hm, apparently,” ground Sherlock.

John had to chuckle at that, and once he got started, Sherlock joined along until they had both pulled slightly from each other in fits of laughter. When finally the laughter had subsided, they were sitting faced forward again, with John doubled over his knees.

They looked at each other. “We should’ve done this years ago,” he told Sherlock.

“Hum, clearly.”

They were still smiling.

“Oh god, I hope we’re there soon. The things I want to do to you…”

Sherlock looked out the window, calculating. “I believe we’re coming up on Regent’s Park now. So not far.”

“Ah, good.”


	4. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's journey to the hospital when Sherlock was shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the last image [here.](http://221bgaykerstreet.tumblr.com/post/152315984226/221bgaykerstreet-tenderly-totally-tragically)

“Yeah, by no means get up and help!” John snapped at Magnussen as he tried to lift Sherlock’s body, arm over his shoulder, makeshift tourniquet around the wound.

Magnussen just stared after him like some indifferent animal as John heaved Sherlock back through the door and back downstairs to the room they’d come in on. John thought he heard a small thump, but Janine was still laying unconscious on the ground. Man, what a mess this night was.

He called the staff on the comm line. “A man’s been shot up here… no, Magnussen’s fine… his assistant’s unconscious… yeah, alright I’m coming down… just… don’t ask questions, it doesn’t matter right now, just be prepared, alright?... I’ll answer your questions later, when he’s alright.” He released the comm button and moved Sherlock over to the elevator, punching the ground floor button.

He shifted Sherlock in his arms several times on the long journey to the ground floor of the building.

He had to wait for minutes outside until the ambulance arrived, but until then he rechecked Sherlock’s condition while Magnussen’s staff grilled him, and he impatiently bit back a few short answers. “Come on, Sherlock, stay with me…” he whispered softly to Sherlock, eager to return to where the majority of his focus rested right now. “Come on…”

Finally, the paramedics arrived, and they got him immediately onto a gurney, replacing his makeshift tourniquet with a more medical one, checking out his vitals and finally rolling him into the ambulance.

John followed them inside. “Please, I’m his best friend. I’m a doctor, too. Please let me stay with him.”

The paramedics made little conversation, but made room for him in the back. One of them made a comment on his doctor’s status, and updated him what was happening while the others worked. He invited him into the process, and John at least felt like he was able to do something, even something so menial as keeping a check on his vitals while the rest of them worked.

“Come on, Sherlock, we’re losing you.”

He was crashing, fast. John kept the paramedics frequently updated on what he was observing in Sherlock’s body, and they moved quickly, trying to keep up.

When they finally arrived at the hospital, John chased after the paramedics as they delivered him to the operating room and passed him over to the doctor’s.

A hand came up to stop him from entering the room, and John stopped before one of the doctor’s, already in full scrubs.

“I’m sorry. Even if you are a doctor, we can’t let you enter this room. There’s an observation deck up above, you can watch from there. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this.”

John sighed. Of course, standard procedure. He supposed he was too close to Sherlock to enter that room, anyway. Accepting the doctor’s orders without word, he was led by another staff member up to the observation deck.

And he watched through thick glass as Sherlock was slowly dying. He pressed himself up against that glass, as if that glass were him, were Sherlock, seeking contact and only getting cold separation in return: the ultimate metaphor for their relationship. He couldn’t touch him. He couldn’t even be in that room to save him. He felt he was fading with Sherlock’s heart beat…

And then, a jolt.

Flinching away from the glass, we watched as Sherlock’s heartbeat began up again. A miracle. All those doctor’s that had given up long before John would’ve, turned their attention back to the monitor and crowded around him, getting back to work again.

Lights, camera, action.

John stood with bated breath as he watched Sherlock quickly come back to life. He heart pounded in his chest at the sight. Sherlock, alive, one last miracle…

Those blue eyes snapped open. And one whispered confession: Ma-ry…

Mary. John’s heart sank in his chest. Because that was the old movie cliché, wasn’t it? The patient wakes up, the love of their life the first name on their lips.

John felt his heart was breaking. Mary.

He stiffened, every part the soldier. Still, at least Sherlock was alive. That’s what he wanted, isn’t it? Alive and well. And if he was right about Sherlock’s confession… well, Mary was his wife. But who was he to dictate who makes him happy? He wanted Sherlock to be happy…

Mary. Of course, there was one other movie cliché. The name of the victim’s murderer. But that was ridiculous, of course. Mary, a murderer? Of course not.

Still, he couldn’t help all these thoughts stewing within him. Love? Murder? Well, Sherlock wasn’t murderer, so that was that. But still, if she had so much as even tried…

“You’re in big trouble,” John told Mary, hours later when she showed up at the hospital. “His first word when he woke up? Mary.”

And he was tearing up inside, because part of him was joking, but part of him actually believed it. He knew Mary, surely, didn’t he? He knew she wasn’t capable of this. And still the doubts swam in him. Because how well did he know her, really? They’d only known each other a few months before proposing. She might as well be anyone.

And she was. Sherlock risked his heart again to prove, and John just went along with it. The result was Sherlock spending even longer in hospital, and John moving back into 221B just as Sherlock predicted he would, coming to visit him in hospital every time he felt lonely in that place, which was daily. Of course, Sherlock had other visitors, and John always had to check in about that whenever he showed up, so that the hospital staff knew him by name and automatically answered the question before he asked it.

They also kept a closer eye on him since his attempted escape. He couldn’t get away again, not on their watch. They kept a constant security watch on him, and John kept a close eye on him too when he was there.

John quite enjoyed the bonding time there with Sherlock. He held his hand, and they talked. Never about anything of importance, but John liked to shoot the breeze, and Sherlock didn’t seem to mind. Although, John suspected he didn’t spend to much time listening, either.

After a month, he was released. Healthy and alive, John took him back to 221B Baker Street. He avoided Mary at all costs. And they were happy.

It truly was a miracle.


	5. Between You and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Reichenbach, Sally Donovan just has to know the secret of John's affiliation with Sherlock. And ends up spilling a few secrets of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off [the first image](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/149661922581/the-abominable-brides-but-no-this-show-is).

“Oi, Dr. Watson?”

It was Sally Donovan. What did she want? John turned to meet her patiently where she caught him on the street.

“Yeah, what is it, Donovan?”

“I just have to know. The freak --“ John cringed, “--Sherlock Holmes,” Donovan corrected herself. “You never took my advice. Why did you continue to see him?”

“I don’t think that’s anyone of your business.”

“I told you he got off on those cases.”

“Well, if you really must know, as it turned out, so did I.”

“Ugh. You’re both freaks. You deserved each other.”

“Tell me Sally --“ She scoffed. “Donovan,” said John. “Why did you become a cop? If you don’t enjoy the work, if you’re really so miserable, why do you do it?”

“I wanted to help people.”

“There’s plenty of jobs where you can do that. Hell, you could’ve been a doctor.”

“What, like you? No, it wasn’t like that. I was idealistic, once. I wanted to put away all the homicidal freaks who made people suffer, all freaks who raped or tortured or kidnapped people. I wanted to be people’s hero, and I wanted them to trust me. But it turned out trust was overrated. People shouldn’t trust strangers. They shouldn’t trust easily. And they _especially_ shouldn’t trust freaks.”

“Is that what happened to you? You trusted a freak?”

“I didn’t know he was a freak. Like you, I fell completely for his charms. Now I know the only one you can trust at the end of the day is yourself. And if I go around betraying other people’s trust, it’s because they did it to me first. And they deserve it. Because no one’s promises are worth shit, at the end of the day.”

“What did he do to you?”

“That’s none of your business,” said Sally. “Anyway, now we both know it. Sherlock Holmes betrayed you just as he did to me --“

“Sorry, _Sherlock Holmes_ betrayed you?” said John.

“Yeah, he does that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that rather than…?”

“I barely knew you. It’s none of your business. I told you, I don’t trust easily.”

“Neither did I before I met Sherlock Holmes. But then I met him, and it’s like the walls I spent decades building just crumbled down like they were made of sand. Just one look, just one line. Tell me, was it love with you and Sherlock --?”

“God no. Nothing like that. It would’ve been a waste of time, anyway, I’m not stupid. It was just… well, I’m not telling you.”

“Tell me, Sally. We’ve never been friends, and you’ve absolutely no right to trust me, but we went through a similar thing, you and I. Can’t you tell me?”

“All right. Thing about Sherlock Holmes, is he has a knack of seeing everything. Your darkest secrets, he can just read on your face. He read mine, and before he’d even thought about it, they just ran from his mouth. I wanted to trust him, really I did. Begged him to stop, but it’s like he didn’t even see me. I had worked with him alright until that point. But after that, I just couldn’t stomach it anymore. I hated him. So I tried to dig up shit on him. Didn’t work, though, the guy’s smart. In the end, there was nothing I could do. The whole of Scotland Yard knew my dirty secret. It wrecked me. It was all I could do to stay afloat and focus on my job. Eventually I did, but I never forgave him. Honestly, I still hate myself for it. But I hate him more.”

“What was the secret?”

She choked on a bitter laugh. “Yeah, like I’m telling you! See you round, John. Or not…”

And she left him alone on the street. Left him reeling, as he headed back to 221B. Alone, without Sherlock.

Because now Sherlock was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been curious about Sally. Even though I always hated her for the way she treated Sherlock, I've always wanted to know her story. Maybe I'm a sucker for angry female characters. Maybe I just thought she was pretty, and wished she was more likeable too. But just imagine idealistic Sally. Imagine after her horrible secret came out, and Papa Lestrade was the only one at the Yard who was there for her. Imagine dark offices and dark flats, imagine her coming undone.
> 
> Poor Sally.


	6. Don't Make Me Choose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moran forces Hamish to choose which father he wants to live. His choice has consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on these images that I capped off tumblr ages ago...
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://s786.photobucket.com/user/littlewonder2/media/impossible%20choice_zpshxe364zj.png.html)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://s786.photobucket.com/user/littlewonder2/media/aftermath_zpsw6fewxm8.png.html)  
> 
> 
> [I finally figured out how to do the thing!]

“It can’t be that difficult to pick, is it?” said Moran.

Hamish was looking between his two fathers, his dad with his steely gaze, his father with his nervous consciousness. It was impossible to choose, he didn’t want to lose either of them… but he had to choose. If he didn’t, he’d lose them both, and what would he do then?

“Give me a minute,” said Hamish, his stress evident in his voice.

“Alright,” Moran allowed, and Hamish moved forward, his eyes fixed on his dad and he approached him.

He was more bloodied up than his father was, and he took a hold of his face with his child’s hands. He wiped at the blood on his dad’s right cheek, trying to clean it away, but he did little more than smudge it. With love and fear in his eyes, he leaned into his dad’s left, and whispered into his ear. “I don’t know what to do, dad. What do I do?”

His dad’s mouth was already lined up with his own ear, and he got a whisper back. “Save John.”

Hamish leaned back, considering. “Have you made your decision?” Moran called. “Is this who you’ve chosen?”

“No!” cried Hamish, desperately stalling for time. “Just give me a minute!”

Moran fell silent. Hamish turned from his dad to his father, seated to the right. He knew what his father would tell him, but still he wandered over to ask him. He cupped his face in his hands, just as he had with his dad. He leaned into his father’s right ear. “Dad told me to save you.”

“Don’t,” his father whispered back. He paused, stilted with pain. “Don’t… save me. Save him.”

“I don’t know what to do,” said Hamish. “I don’t… I love you both. If I don’t save you, he’ll never forgive me. And you --“

“I won’t forgive you if you don’t. Save him.”

“So basically I’m screwed,” said Hamish.

“No, hey, hey,” said his father. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I love you. I just… I don’t know how I’ll live without him… Please, just --“

“I know. I don’t know, either.”

“Please just save him. The world needs Sherlock Holmes.”

“And me? What about me? Living without him, or you. Can he really take care of me? I love him… but I don’t know… And if I let you die, will he forgive me?”

“He loves you,” said his father. “Of course.”

“But is that enough?”

“Hamish… he’ll forgive you. He loves you.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Enough,” Moran said, “come back here, Hamish. Enough talking. Have you made your decision?”

“No!”

“Well, hurry up,” said Moran, as Hamish backed up towards him again, under threat. “Make your decision.”

Hamish looked between them again, desperate, helpless and disconnected this far from his dads. He looked at his dad, watched expectantly. He looked at his father, who looked hopefully, supportive. As he looked between them, he realised he’d already made his decision.

He looked around, hoping to put off the moment. But all eyes were on him, and there was nothing. So he made the only decision he could. “I choose… to keep…” He pointed at his father. “Father.”

“Very good,” said Moran with a patronising smile. He walked forward in front of Hamish, pointing the gun at his head. He lowered it… and fired.

The shot rang out, and Moran gestured at his men to untie and dump the men from their chairs. After this, the men took their things and departed.

John crawled quickly over to Sherlock, compressing his hands to the wound in his chest. “He’s missed the heart. The bullet has punctured his lung… Hamish, run out into the street, try to borrow someone’s phone. Call 999. Ambulance. Quickly!”

Hamish ran out into the street while John attended to Sherlock’s wound. His desperate pleas for help (“My dad is dying! Can I borrow your phone?”) quickly got a sympathetic response, and soon he was running to the nearest street sign to report his location. After he returned the phone to the pair of friends who had lent it to him, he waited on the street corner to direct them to his father inside. About 8 minutes later, he ran in, showing them the way, and watched as his father and the medics did what they could.

Soon, they loaded him into a stretcher, then into the ambulance, and rode to the hospital. Finally, John returned to him, and they waited anxiously for the surgeons to save his life.

A couple days later, they returned in the morning to visit him. Hamish still felt guilty that they almost lost him, but his father reminded him, “It’s not your fault, Hamish. I forgive you. And he’s alive anyway, so it all worked out, didn’t it?”

“But what if it happens again? Or what if he really doesn’t make it?”

“Well, when we go to see him, we’ll find out how he’s doing. But I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

John smiled. “Yes, Hamish. I’m sure.”

His dad told him the same thing when they saw him at nine that morning. “I’ll still have plenty of opportunities to make your father worry, yes,” he told him when Hamish asked.

John laughed humourlessly. “Yes, alright, Sherlock,” he said.


End file.
